


Clocking

by dansunedisco



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Deputy Parrish POV, Gen, Long-suffering, Non-Human Jordan Parrish, Season/Series 04, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 14:46:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2313320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dansunedisco/pseuds/dansunedisco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a quiet night in Beacon Hills. That alone made Deputy Parrish wary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clocking

**Author's Note:**

> Written because we still don't know what Parrish is. Boo!
> 
> Sort of canon compliant and works under the assumption that Parrish knew he was "something else" all along.

It was a quiet night in Beacon Hills. That alone made Deputy Parrish wary.

Not a whisper of action had crackled over his radio since he had taken off for his nighttime patrol. He’d driven his regular route, shooed some teenagers away from the elementary playground, and had settled down into the town’s most well known speed trap when dispatch had called it in. There was nothing of interest going on. No suspicious persons afoot. No mountain lion ravaging hapless tweens. He hadn’t even seen a raccoon zip by, and he was parked really, really close to some dumpsters. It was weird. Well—weird for Beacon Hills, anyway.

He sighed, tapped a little ditty on the steering wheel, and leaned over to peek up at the night’s sky. The moon was waxing behind a wispy fluff of clouds, its pale light shining down onto the streets below, and Jordan wondered, with no small amount of annoyance, _when_ his life had started to revolve around the lunar phases.

Two weeks ago, the Sheriff’s son had marched into the station and shoved a calendar onto his desk, dates of the full moon circled several times in bright red. It was the day after Jordan had seen Scott McCall’s face ripple into something looking like a Geico caveman commercial, right before he ripped the throat out of a murderous unicorn ( _really_ ) and ruined Jordan’s khaki pants. “You’re gonna need this now,” Stiles had said, then flounced away without another word, backpack bouncing against his hip.

Jordan had looked over his shoulder to the Sheriff, who had simply raised his hands in a _don’t ask me, I’m just half of his DNA_ gesture and retreated into his office. It was his typical reaction to all things Stiles, even before cryptic calendars and werewolves, but it would have been nice to know someone was on Jordan’s side. Or willing to give clarifying answers.

_Werewolves_ , he thought in disbelief, not for the first time and definitely not the last. It had been maybe a month since that hairy surprise had leapt out of the bag with very real fangs and very sharp claws and he’d begrudgingly joined the awkward teenage werewolf support group—or “pack”, as they liked to call it.

Jordan had known other _things_ existed (how narcissistic did a guy have to be to think he was the only odd one out there?) but _werewolves_ , really? It was so… Twilight. It had explained a lot, though. A small town known for its high death rate by “animal attacks” and arson and outright murder was awfully suspicious. Jordan had been _this close_ to slamming his head into a sturdy cement wall for not realizing the supernatural connection sooner. He wasn’t exactly known for his brainpower, but _Christ_ , he was a police officer. At least he was getting a break from the insanity that had plagued Beacon Hills and the department these last few months.

No sooner had the relief passed through his thoughts that a familiar blue Jeep came blazing past his speed trap. Jordan didn’t have his radar pointed—hell, it wasn’t even _on_ —but there was no way the vehicle was going under 35. He flipped his lights on and peeled out behind Stiles’s Jeep, a mixture of dread and adrenaline surging into his veins. He saw Stiles flail from the driver’s side and, for a second, Jordan thought the kid might make a run for it, but the Jeep jerked and pulled to the curb. Jordan stepped out of the cruiser immediately, completely against protocol, and marched up to the car and shone his flashlight straight into Stiles’s eyes. He tapped the window with his finger, mimed the universal sign for _roll the window down, dumbass._

Stiles did as he was ordered and flopped halfway out the window. “What seems to be the problem, officer?”

“What the hell is going on?” he hissed. “You were going at least ten over.” 

“More like twenty,” Stiles mumbled, then quickly added, “but that’s not the point! See, look, I got a call from Scott and—”

A loud howl pierced into the silence of the night. Jordan spun around to face the tree line, heart pounding. He flashed his light into the darkness, more out of habit and training than anything else. New experience told him that whatever was lurking in the shadows could move quicker than he could draw his gun. “What did Scott want?” he asked, when nothing immediately jumped out to eat him alive.

“That’s the thing! I don’t know. _Yet_. But I promise it wasn’t a social call.” Stiles spoke with urgency that was hard to fake. “You should probably get back in your car. Maybe lock the doors?”

The thing of it was, Stiles was absolutely right. Neither of them were safe, Jordan less so for being outside, but he was torn between giving Stiles a hefty ticket and a lecture, and letting the kid go handle whatever hinky business waited for him in the Preserve.

“I’m on duty,” he said finally, eyes still scanning the darkness. “If it’s a real emergency, call 9-1-1. I won’t be far away.”

Stiles exhaled noisily, keys jangling as he started the Jeep back up. “Oh my god. Thank you so much, dude!”

“Deputy,” he corrected sternly, but Stiles had already torn off into the night. All he could do was wait and hope he had made the right decision in letting Stiles go; didn’t mean he had to like it, though. The Sheriff was definitely getting debriefed about his son in the morning. Jordan sighed. “I should’ve taken that job in Oakland.”


End file.
